


Pups, Packs, and Promises

by MaddieBonanaFana



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Happy Ending, Post-Canon, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, Slow Burn, i take a really long time to get to the point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:57:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaddieBonanaFana/pseuds/MaddieBonanaFana
Summary: "In Sansa's dreams, her children looked the brothers she had lost."





	Pups, Packs, and Promises

Sansa had always wanted children. She wanted them when she was betrothed to Joffrey, the golden lion. She wanted to give him princes and princesses with beautiful blonde hair. When the fantasy of her golden prince shattered along with her spirit, she still wanted them, though in her mind they were no longer blonde, but instead, Starks. Northern children that represented everything her family stood for. They would be good and honorable, and the Stark name would thrive under them. 

Her brief betrothal to Ser Loras gave her dream life. They would not be Starks in name, but they would still be taught their ways, and they would be beautiful. With Ser Loras as their father, she could see them with sparkling green eyes and charming smiles. Then she was married off to the Imp, and all dreams of children died. She would never bed him, and he was kind enough to accept that. 

And then Robb died. And her mother. And Sansa felt like she would die along with them, untethered to this world, she felt like it was only a matter of time before she drifted away and joined them in the heavens. Sansa felt like even if she stayed in this world, she would never feel joy again.

The Queen told her that children would bring her happiness, that they would give her something to feel again, and Sansa seriously considered it. She thought that perhaps she could someday see her brother and mother again, in the form of her children. The Imp, Tyrion, as she began to call him, was not the worst of the Lannisters, and perhaps he could pass his wisdom and cleverness down to their children so that they may survive in this world. 

Sansa continued to hold on to this dream, even when Tyrion was no longer the father. It stayed in the back of her mind all the way to the Eeyrie, with Littlefinger's leering eyes, to back to Winterfell, with Ramsay's cruel touches. She didn't dream every night, but when she did, she dreamt of her children. They looked like the brothers she had lost, though the details were never clear. She just knew that in some way, this was how her brothers came back to her. 

In all this time, she wondered where their father was. For brief moments in time, she had thought it would be Joffrey, Ser Loras, or Tyrion, but those dreams had turned to ash for various reasons. She thought at one point her children may never be fathered, instead only visiting her in her dreams. The dead were marching, and she would never bring children into this world knowing Cersei still lived. Even the Dragon Queen posed a threat to them. There was too much horror in the world that love and children were better off as dreams, where they could not be touched. 

But when the dead were gone, when Cersei had finally met her end, when the Targaryen was defeated, Sansa could finally breathe again. She had lived when her enemies had perished, and Winterfell finally felt truly safe. She had been crowned Queen in the North and she would see to it that her home and its people would never know horror again. 

However as a queen, she knew that she would have to produce heirs, if only because it would be her duty to continue the Stark line and to ensure the North would be in good hands long after her death. It was strange, she had thought. For so long it had only been a dream, but now there were no more obstacles or excuses in her way. The entire North was waiting on her to make those dreams she had once had a reality. 

It did not take long for the marriage proposals to come in. She was a rare prize with her beauty, her family name, and her status. Lords offered prized sons, Dornish heirs wrote to her with seductive words, even knights pleaded their case. With each and every proposal she received she could only remember what her father had once told her years ago. 

"When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you. Someone who's brave, gentle, and strong." 

This was what she had told the northern lords when they had requested an audience of her, wondering when she would take a husband and give them their future king or queen. Knowing those words had been from their former liege, and also what horrors their queen had faced, they seemed to accept that. Court my grandson, Lord Glover had said. He will never lay a hand against you he promised. Give my son a chance, said another lord. He will love you even after his dying breath. 

Sansa had been courting several lords and heirs when Ser Brienne and Ser Podrick returned to Winterfell. Her brother, the King in the South, had relieved them of their Kingsguard vows to serve her and Sansa had been so grateful. With Jon beyond the wall, Arya traveling West, and Bran in the south, Winterfell had grown hollow and lonely. What was a home without the people that made it so? Brienne and Podrick were not her blood, but they were familiar faces and for that she was happy. 

Sansa had no intention of installing a Queensguard, which was a southern tradition, but Brienne resumed her place as her personal guard and even took up the Master of Arms position. Podrick became her guard as well, though he did not make the vow Brienne had made to her. She had exchanged a few words with him in the past, mostly pleasantries and she had even thanked him for his part in her rescue, gifting him and Brienne with new cloaks to keep them warm. This time she gave them the colors of her house to wear, and they promised to serve her well. 

Podrick may have been granted the title of a knight, but he still had the demeanor of a squire. He followed her and Brienne around dutifully, loyal and eager to please, which was done so genuinely that it endeared Sansa. She did note however, that he had changed much like she had. 

When she first met Podrick Payne, he was a very simple, quiet boy, with round blushing cheeks. Whenever he spoke he stuttered, and turned red whenever someone spoke back to him, causing him to look down at his feet. Sansa remembered not thinking much of him beyond that she liked how sweet he was, which was rarity in the Red Keep. When she was married to his Lord, he would bring her lemon cakes with trembling hand. She remembered having one passing thought that if only he had been a prince instead of a squire, then perhaps she could have been promised to him instead of Joffrey and Tyrion. When they met again after her rescue from Ramsay, besides giving him the cloak, he had not entered her mind much at all with the chaos that surrounded her.

He was a man now, she could see it plainly. Though he was still boyish looking, he had traded his round face for a strong jaw, his soft middle and arms were muscled now. He carried himself with a bit more confidence, or at least, he could look people in the eye now without blushing and stuttering. 

Being in her personal service, she spent a lot of time with him. Whether it was walks around Winterfell or to the Godswood, going for rides, or even just conversations, he was a face she saw a lot of and that began to please her greatly, though she chalked that up to being grateful for a friend when those had been sparse. 

He was popular with the northern girls. Serving maids would smile at him, Sansa's ladies would blush and giggle in his direction. A handsome southern knight, they said, and he had not been claimed yet. Sometimes he would return their attention, striking up conversation when he had a moment to spare. It began to bother Sansa for reasons she could not explain. Sometimes she would interrupt these moments, sending either him or the girl away for a task. She wondered if that made her terrible, but part of her selfishly didn't care. She loved the way he would smile at her and bow, loyally giving his attention to her and leaving behind the other girl. She knew that Brienne was beginning to grow suspicious of this but her knight never said anything, only casting a curious look at the scene. 

The conversations with the lords and heirs began to bore her. When they would come to walk with her she always found her mind drifting away. She would wonder what Jon or Arya were doing, how Bran was faring in the South. She would think about mother and father, about Robb and Rickon. Sometimes she would think about those children she used to dream of. Other times her thoughts wandered to the handsome southern knight. He never accompanied her during these moments, only Brienne, so he was usually free to do as he pleased. She would find herself watching him if he was around. She enjoyed watching him spar with the other men. She admired his strength and improving skill and would smile when he won, completely removed from whatever the lord or heir courting her was saying. 

Brave 

Yes he was brave. She remembered him at the Blackwater, this round cheeked, young boy heading for a bloody battle. The worst ones always live she said that night, but sometimes the good ones did too. He had saved Lord Tyrion's life that night, she had learned. When she had fled Kings Landing, he joined Brienne's service and set out to find her and bring her home. That journey had not been an easy one, she didn't need anyone to tell her that. He slept in ditches, fought and killed men, all in her name. When she had been captive and abused, hoping for a knight to save her and take her away from it all, he and Brienne had been out there, championing her without her even knowing.

And then the Long Night came and the dead with it. He had fought in the vanguard alongside Ser Brienne and Ser Jaime. Covered in blood and ash, with several injuries, he had emerged from the battle alive and Sansa remembered feeling relived. She made sure that he and Brienne had been tended to, and had been served well at the celebration feast. 

Gentle 

Podrick was exceedingly gentle. His words were always kind, his heart was tender. He had always been sweet and even after all he's been through, he still retained his soft nature. He was a distant relative of the man who beheaded her father, a man who terrified her greatly, but their family name was the only relation they had. Sweet and gentle Pod, who had never hurt her or her family. 

She wondered what his touches were like. Were they as kind as his words? Did he kiss softly and sweetly? Was he a gentle lover? She wanted to know what it felt like to place her hand in his, to press her lips against his. Thoughts like those gave Sansa's cheeks a subtle touch of pink. She wondered what it would be like to take him to bed. Images of her legs wrapped around his waist entered her mind. Of touching him. Of him touching her. Hands fisting his hair as he kissed her. She wanted him to kneel for her in private and look up at her with those adoring brown eyes of his. If she bore his child, would they have eyes like that? Starks did not have brown eyes, but his were so kind and gentle looking, she wished they did. 

Strong 

He was strong in many ways. He could lift and wield heavy weapons. He was mostly proficient with a sword, but she had seen him use all sorts of weapons when training and sparring. He had helped with the rebuilding of Winterfell. The Long Night had left some of it in ruin, and he joined the men in the heavy work of lifting and building, going so far as to take a small leadership role in it. It was pleasing to watch. 

But he was also strong in the heart, as tender as it was. Sansa discovered how he came into Lord Tyrion's service, how he had been sentenced to death and spared at the very last second. Sansa had faced death many times, but she had never had to make the walk to the gallows. That must have been terrifying, to stare death in the face like that, yet he remained so full of life. Lions, flaming stags, flayed men, even the dead themselves, he had been hurt by so much. Like her, he had seen the worst of Westeros and came out alive, still honorable and good. That was strength where it mattered, she thought, not many were clever enough to see that, but she was. 

"I don't wish to offend you, Your Grace," Brienne had said. She had been present when Sansa had rejected Lord Glover's grandson, staying at a respectful but close distance in case trouble occurred, and followed her up to the ramparts where she watched Podrick train with a soldier down below. 

"You are my trusted guard and closest friend, you will not offend me," Sansa had said, eyes focused on the scene below. Brienne accepted that with a nod and was quiet for a moment, watching Podrick along with her Queen. 

"You love him," she said finally. 

Sansa took awhile to respond, the clang of Podrick's sword against the soldiers filling the silence between them. 

"I do," she said, in a controlled voice. 

Brienne nodded again at the confirmation, though she likely knew all along. The two continued to watch below them quietly until she spoke again. 

"He talks a great deal about you," she said. "Even before when it was just the two of us." Sansa gave a small smile at that. "He wants to give you a winter rose in the Godswood," she said again. "I told him he would be foolish to do so, but he said that he had to try before it was too late."

"And will I be foolish to say yes?" Sansa countered. Brienne seemed horrified. 

"Your Grace, my apologies, I-"

"No," Sansa interrupted. "Speak plainly, I want to know what you believe." 

Brienne was silent, considering her words. "I worry they will not accept him," she said. 

"Northerners are not as mistrustful as you think," Sansa counseled. "He is no longer an outsider to them. He has fought and bled for their home and their queen, they know that. They want heirs," she said. She paused for a moment. "As do I." 

She noticed Brienne smiling at that hint of emotion in her voice, though she cleared her throat and changed back to an expression of steel. 

Down below, Podrick grunted and knocked the sword out of the other man's hand, winning. He must have felt himself being watched, because he looked up at the ramparts, catching Sansa's gaze. She smiled softly at him and he returned the favor, looking hopeful. 

It wasn't long before they presented themselves before the Old Gods. Jon had given her away, she wrote to him demanding he attend the wedding. Though her words were affectionate the message was clear, and he traveled back home for a brief visit to give her away in place of their father. 

Podrick looked so handsome that night. He looked like a true Northman standing under the Weirwood tree, dressed in fine leather and fur. As Jon walked her towards him, all she could think about was her fathers words to her, how his vow had been kept even after his death. Podrick was watching her with wide brown eyes, filled with awe. She was so in love with him, not like how she was in love with Joffrey or Ser Loras, no. Their love had been built and grown, just like her mother and fathers. 

They said their vows and Sansa was cloaked in her own house's sigil, signifying that while he was her husband, she would continue to be a Stark. Their kiss had been soft but passionate, and that passion continued into their consummation. She was very pleased that her thoughts and hopes about taking him to bed were all true. 

They made a prince that night. Nine moons later, Eddwyn Stark was born. His birth had been long and grueling. Sansa's pained screams echoed through the castle and Podrick looked genuinely scared, terrified that he may lose her to the birth of their child. But she had persevered, she always did, and soon their squirming son was placed into her arms. He was ruddy from the birth but there was no mistake about his appearance. He was utterly Podrick in almost every way. Dark haired and dark eyed, there was no denying that he was just as much his son as he was Sansa's. 

Podrick cried alongside her, marveling at the babe and stroking his soft cheeks. 

"He's you," Sansa said, weak from the labor. 

"The Gods have truly blessed me," he cried. "With him, with you." He kissed her, then their son. When he held Eddwyn in his arms, Sansa cried. Father and son, looking so much alike, her two greatest loves. She never she could be this happy. 

The North rejoiced at the news of a prince, their future king. When Sansa had healed, she presented him to the lords of the North, with Podrick at her side looking as proud as ever when the lords raised their swords in allegiance to their son. Brienne had done the same, and made sacred vows in private as well. Though the knight tried to conceal her emotions normally, she was all smiles and tears with the infant prince. 

All of it happened again when Catya was born. They had waited a few years before making another child, though that had not stopped their regular nocturnal activities. Eddwyn was six when his sister came into this world. Brienne had looked after him while Sansa and Podrick were busy with the birth. He loved the lady knight more than the handmaidens, and followed her around much like Podrick had once done. 

Catya was born with round, rosy cheeks and soft brown eyes, again just like her father. However, she had wisps of Tully hair on her head that brought tears to Sansa's eyes. She was so beautiful. Podrick was immediately smitten with her, calling her his 'little princess'. It filled Sansa's heart with love. When both her and Catya were cleaned, Eddwyn was brought in to meet his sister, and he held her with care. Her children, her sweet spring babes. Her dreams had finally come to fruition. 

Now, Sansa stood on the ramparts of the castle, a favorite spot of hers. Eddwyn, though still a boy, had grown so much. He was sparring with Brienne down below, and Sansa watched with pride. 

He was so much like his father, with his dark locks and brown eyes, and he was nothing if not kind and gentle. 

Yet he was also so much like Robb. Sansa could see it whenever he smiled, that handsome, confident smile her brother had. She saw it when he spoke to lords and ladies, how confident and respectful he was even at such a young age. The North loved him, he wore the title of a prince well, and Sansa could just see him as King now. He would be honorable and just, he would rule the North the way his uncle would have. 

Yes, when he looked at Sansa, clad in leather and fur, a small sword sheathed at his side, he was so much like his father but also his uncle. This was the son Sansa had always dreamed of. 

She watched as he practiced, Brienne being respectful and minding his age, but also not holding back. She loved him as much as Sansa did, and she wanted him to be strong and skilled. She couldn't afford to go easy on him. 

Sansa's attention was drawn away by the sound of footsteps and a familiar giggle. Podrick was approaching her with Catya in his arms, her fingers curled in the fur of his cloak, her ginger curls blowing slightly with the breeze. She had recently learned to walk but Podrick doted on her. He said he was worried about the icy ramparts, but Sansa knew he loved holding her. Where most men loved their children at a distance, leaving affection to their wife and handmaidens, Podrick showered their children with love and affection. He would hold them, rock them to sleep and sing to them with that lovely voice of his. Ruffling their hair and kissing their heads and cheeks. It was unusual to see a father so openly affectionate like that, but a nice change of pace. It showed the North how loved their prince and princess were. 

"I escaped the handmaidens, they were scolding me to put her down," he said, greeting his wife with a kiss. 

"You spoil her," said Sansa, kissing him back and then Catya, who giggled and smiled so happily it warmed Sansa right up. 

Catya, besides her Tully hair, was like her brother with how much she resembled Podrick. She had his soft brown eyes, his button nose, and round cheeks. However, Sansa saw a lot of Rickon in her as well. She was wild like he was, happy, so full of life. She still had much to grow, like Rickon had before he died, but Sansa knew she was him reborn. Whenever she laughed or smiled, she saw him. 

Of course, she would begin to teach her the ways of a lady, how to curtesy and all the other things her mother had once taught her, but she would also teach her to be clever, to be as smart as she was beautiful, a lesson Sansa wished she had been taught as a young girl. She would teach Eddwyn too, as he would need to rule the North smarter than Robb. Half her family was killed because of stupid mistakes, she would not let that happen to her children. She would give them the best chance they had in this world. 

Though she needn't be too protective. The dead were only a nightmare of their parents now, and there were no more dragons or flayed men to hurt them. The only lion left, they called 'uncle' and he visited often, showering them with gifts and wisdom. Still, she knew what the world was like, how quickly it can change. 

"He's already better than I am," said Podrick, watching Eddwyn as Catya tugged on his hair, completely unbothered by it. 

"Perhaps we should make him the knight and you the king," Sansa teased. 

"Yes and have the whole North go up in flames," he responded, and they both laughed. One of his hands curled around the rail, and Sansa rested her's on top of it. It felt like they shared a heart. 

She looked from him, to Catya, to Eddywn. They had made such beautiful wolf pups. She hoped wherever her brothers and mother and father were, they could see them. She knew that they would love them. 

Sansa sighed in content. All felt well in Winterfell again.


End file.
